


Symbolism

by cosmogyrals



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: I am incapable of writing anything serious, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyrals/pseuds/cosmogyrals
Summary: T'Challa asks Sam to assist him with a perfectly normal problem.





	Symbolism

"You want me to do _what_?" Sam stared at T'Challa's reflection in the mirror; he was getting dressed for the day, straightening the collar of the tunic he wore. This one was a dark purple, almost eggplant, and bore gold embroidery. While not all of his wardrobe was black and purple, Sam had noticed that an unusually large proportion was, and it made him wonder if T'Challa simply preferred those colors (he looked good in nearly every color, and it was unfair), or if it was a subtle attempt to reassert his position of power with those who disagreed with his progressive policies - and his foreign lover.

T'Challa sat down on their bed, wearing just his tunic and underwear. "It's an ancient fertility ritual," he explained again. "The king calls the blessing of the panther god down onto the fields to make them fruitful. Many cultures hold similar beliefs linking human and plant fertility, and I find it much more pleasing than the ones that involve watering crops with your enemies' blood. For one thing, it ruins the chemical balance of the soil, and collecting all that blood is inconvenient, at best." He wore a straight face as he said this, as he nearly always did when he was joking. Or when he wasn't joking.

"Yeah, okay, that's great, but-" Sam was hung up on one particular aspect of the process. "Human fertility is, you know, a man and a woman. I don't have the field for you to sow, metaphorically speaking."

He burst out laughing and wrapped an arm around Sam, kissing his temple in one of those shows of affection he saved for their bedroom. His beard brushed Sam's cheek, sending a tingle down Sam's spine in a way he knew he'd have to ignore if T'Challa wanted to get to his meeting on time. (After the first time Okoye had simply walked into the bedroom and lectured T'Challa about being late, Sam had learned his lesson about distracting him in the morning.)

"Do you really think all the past rulers of Wakanda were heterosexual, little bird?" he murmured in Sam's ear. "It is the spilling of the king's seed that matters, not whether it takes root."

Sam wondered for a moment about the hypothetical past queens of Wakanda and decided against asking any more questions.

"So we're going to have sex in a field," he said instead, ignoring T'Challa's wandering hands.

"One field," T'Challa agreed. "Which symbolizes all the fields of Wakanda. Surely you understand the importance of symbolism in religion."

Of course he did. And with a few more nudges in just the right place, Sam found himself agreeing to T'Challa's request.

 

"You didn't say the priests were going to be watching," Sam hissed.

T'Challa's face was unreadable - mostly because it was hidden under an elaborately carved mask. He wore what Sam assumed was an older version of the Panther habit, from way before the Black Panther started running around cities. (There was a _loincloth_.) "So when you're getting me off in some corner of the palace, you have no problem with the possibility of others watching," he rumbled in Sam's ear, "but when there are priests watching-"

"Actually _watching_ , not just maybe walking in on us." Sam's tone was sharp, but he tried to keep his voice down so they weren't overheard. It was bad enough he was bare-ass naked in the middle of a field on a full moon, and he was seriously starting to wonder what he'd gotten himself into.

"Shhhh." T'Challa laid a finger on Sam's lips. "Relax. You'll forget they're there soon enough."

Sam nipped at the pad of his finger, just to be obstinate. The priests stood evenly spaced around the perimeter of the field, like silent sentinels carved from onyx. Yeah, okay, maybe he was a little worried about performing for an audience. _Just focus on T'Challa,_ he told himself. His chest was bare, patterned with white rosettes in the fashion of a panther's coat, and Sam let his fingers drift up to explore the dried paint.

"Do you have to keep the mask on?" he grumbled.

"It's symbolic." Although, judging by the tone of T'Challa's voice, he was wearing one of those annoying shit-eating grins he sported from time to time. He drew Sam closer, resting his hands on his ass, letting his thumbs trace his cleft. "I'll kiss you later to make up for it."

"Hnn." Sam was distracted all too quickly by what T'Challa was doing with his hands, particularly as his thumbs went lower, and- yes, he could definitely get it up with a bunch of priests watching, as it turned out. He'd prepared himself beforehand with what he'd been told was the proper oil for the ritual, and T'Challa's thumb slid in and out of him easily.

The earth was still warm from the sun as Sam laid down, T'Challa settling comfortably between his thighs. Normally, they would have spent more time with foreplay, lingering touches and slow kisses, but there was no need for that tonight. Instead, T'Challa lifted his loincloth up and pushed into him in one smooth move. Sam let out a strangled cry and spread his thighs wider, hitching his hips up. His hands found purchase on T'Challa's shoulders, his head instinctively coming up closer to the mask, as if to kiss him.

"You were already hard?" Sam muttered, the words interspersed with gasps as T'Challa began thrusting into him.

"You didn't look at my loincloth?" A rich, warm chuckle rumbled in his chest. "It's impossible to hide in one of those."

"Impossible to hide in the normal habit, too." He was pretty sure T'Challa was naked when he ran around as the Black Panther. Had Shuri built in a protective cup? What if he needed to take a piss? What about- "Shit," Sam swore. "There's no way to get your dick out."

"Now you see why I chose the traditional garb for this." Long fingers wrapped around Sam's cock. "Women should, perhaps, take certain things into consideration when designing garments."

Sam just snorted, pressing his forehead against the carved wood of the mask as he tried to hold in his laughter. His body rocked up off the ground, meeting T'Challa's thrusts, shuddering with pleasure and stifled laughter. "G- T'Challa-"

"I know, Sam." 

Before long, Sam reached his climax, spilling out over T'Challa's fist, some of it glinting in the moonlight as it dripped to the ground. He felt his lover tense in his arms, and then-

And then T'Challa pulled out as he came with a shout, spurting into the soil.

"Symbolism," Sam mumbled breathlessly. He hoped the crops were damn good this year.


End file.
